


Do Not Go Gentle

by obdurateWraith



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 15:16:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20909747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obdurateWraith/pseuds/obdurateWraith
Summary: A home. A family. A calm, happy life. These are the things that Sylvas Tabris lost in a single day, given up so that he can take on the reluctant mantle of hero. Bruised, broken and beaten down, does he still remember what it means to be a hero?





	Do Not Go Gentle

He awoke to the thrilled screeches of Shianni, practically able to hear the bounce in her step echoing from each of her words. “Wake up, cousin!” She said, looming over the drooling form of her cousin. Sylvas' eyes shot open, a soft groan escaping him as she continued to speak. “Why are you still in bed? It’s your big day!” 

A moment was taken to let himself bring some clarity to his foggy mind. The raven-haired youth stared blankly at Shianni, words slightly slurred. “What? Did I- Did I oversleep?” He yawned, struggling to resist the siren call of his warm, worn and scratchy sheets. Oh, how they called to him. Tanned arms outstretched, he sprawled out lazily, sniffing resentfully. 

“Yeah, your father, and more importantly I, figured you deserved it,” She said warmly, as though she was the most compassionate soul to exist, _and by Andraste was he so lucky to have her_, before curving an eyebrow at him. “...You do remember what today is, right?” 

“Judging from your breath? I’d wager its get-drunk-before-noon day.” His voice dripped with wry wit, teeth partially flashed as his lips were drawn taut over them in a teasing smirk. “It’s my favorite day of the week. I get to watch you throttle Soris for...well, being Soris.” His other cousin, Soris, was often a target of Shianni’s temper, especially when Syvlas used him as a convenient scapegoat.

“But I throttle him every day. And please, Soris being Soris is reason enough to want to smack some sense into him, I’ll have you know.” 

“I know you do. It’s why I’m always in such a good mood.” With a yawn, Sylvas stretched out a little, lazily sitting up and reclining against the wall.

His relaxation was cut a little short as Shianni retaliated by smacking his shoulder, huffing to herself. “Anyway, no, you idiot! It’s your wedding day. You’re getting married, and Soris too!” The reminder made Sylvas blink, his smirk fading away into a tighter smirk, a pale ghost of the usual smiles he adorned, before he attempted his usual snide smile again. “That’s what I came to tell you! Your bride, Nesiara? She’s here early!” She droned on, too absorbed in her excitement for her dear cousin to notice his change in expression. Or maybe he was just that good of an actor, to be able to fool someone who knew him better than he knew himself. 

Either that, or she was just a little too addled from all that cheap booze to notice.

Perhaps it was funny that she was far more excited for this than he was, but that couldn’t be helped, he supposed. Syvlas had absolute confidence in his father, knew that he would only ever pick the best for his son. His father would find him the perfect wife and Sylvas would laugh with her, cry with her, raise a family together. They would give his father several grandchildren to dote over, raise them into fine, young adults. There would be family dinners and every Tabris, young and old, would attend. The family get-togethers would be raucous and memorable, making memories that his grandchildren would hold dear after his father passed away, after he passed away. 

Sylvas knew all this, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to relish the idea, couldn’t forget the words of his mother. _“You will be great one day, vhenan. You will be a hero.”_ A hero, his mother said. How heroic of him to fight the battle that was giving up his youthful freedom, winning himself a lifetime of being a homemaker! To want to be a hero was the stupid dream of a stupid little boy anyway, and Syvlas would find pleasure in being the golden son his father yearned for. He would do his duty. There was pleasure in that. There was pleasure in that. Of course there was pleasure in that. “Already, huh? I guess I don’t have a choice, now do I?” 

“That’s the spirit! Well sort of, I guess.” She laughed softly, staring up at the head-taller male, disturbing the thoughts that coursed through his mind. Among elves, Sylvas was taller than most, though humans likely considered him just above average height. “Alright, I’ll stop torturing you. I should go find my dress and the other bridesmaids,” She turned on her heels, pausing after taking a few steps. “Oh! And Soris said he’d be waiting for you outside. So move your lazy butt!” 

“So commanding. Some might think _you’re_ my wife, the way you heckle at me!” Syvlas couldn’t resist one last remark as she left, Shianni turning on her heels to scurry away and pretty herself up. Letting out one last sigh and taking a moment to collect his thoughts, the elf rested his hands on the edge of the bed, leaning over it. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Seeing his father, Cyrion, gushing with joy should certainly be worth it; Maker knew Cyrion could use some more happiness in his life. With that thought, Sylvas clambered to his feet, stretching out a little and combing a hand through his choppy locks. 

He mulled over the idea of no longer being a bachelor, of likely having to slave away for the rest of his life under the shems- the humans- to eke a meagre living and hope his children would have enough to eat. Sylvas knew that he didn’t have the freedom to be a great warrior anymore, but he’d hoped he at least would have had achieved some sense of freedom by opening his own store, as Alarith had. It would be _something_, at least, some way to leave his mark on the world, some way to soothe his shackled pride as it rattled violently at the rusted bars of the cage it had been shoved in, chafing at the idea of having to serve under anyone, let alone the people who treated he and other elves like they were mangy dogs. 

Suddenly, he found himself facing his father. 

“Good morning my son,” Cyrion began, his face glowing with a glowing happiness his old bones could barely contain, “It’s your big day! Oh, how I wish your mother could have been here to see you.” 

“I know. Me too, father.” For a brief moment, a quiet pause overcame them, feeling the weight of the past thicken the air. Breaking the silence, Sylvas offered a smile, “Is there anything I should be doing right now?” 

“Well, it’s time for you to go find Soris. The sooner we get this wedding started, the less chance the two of you can escape.” 

“A small chance is still a chance.” He commented, that roguish Tabris smirk adorning his lips as his father returned it as Cyrion laughed at his remark. 

“Ah, still have your mother’s smart mouth, I see. Oh, and one last thing, my boy, before you go,” Cyrion’s tone took a more somber, grave edge, “Your martial training- the swordplay, knives, and whatever else your mother taught you. It would be prudent not to mention it to your betrothed.” 

After a quiet moment, Sylvas nodded. “It’s not that important anyway.” Mother would have disagreed, though, would have said that there was little more important than knowing how to stand up for yourself, how to defend yourself. 

“We wouldn’t want to seem like troublemakers, after all. Adaia made that mistake.” Regret and just a hint of grief dripped from Cyrion’s words, eyes downcast at the memory of his wife. Sometimes, Syvlas wondered who loved his mother more, he or his father. It was moments like this where he knew, without a doubt, that his father loved her far more deeply than he had.

And where the name of his mother brought bittersweet memories to Cyrion, it made Sylvas swallow hard to try to wash away the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. Memories of his mother were like poison in his veins, Sylvas' breath slow and heavy as he struggled down to choke down the rage that still boiled his blood. “The humans who killed her made a bigger mistake.” 

Sighing softly, Cyrion nodded, “Our world is full of many injustices. But here, take this. Your mother would have wanted you to have it.” His hands were outstretched, producing a pair of boots. Sylvas glanced down at the boots momentarily, before meeting his father’s gaze once moreo. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder if his mother had been barefoot during a funeral, a thought that brought a morbid chuckle to him. “Thank you.” Reaching out, he felt the worn leather of the boots, fingers tracing the wrinkles and the calluses, trying to read the stories etched into the leather. His mother had been a Dalish elf, not a city elf like he and his father. Very rarely would she speak of her people, though often would she tell him about the many beautiful sights she’d seen. A small part of him hoped he could somehow find more of her stories, keep another memory of her close to his heart. 

“Now, go on then. I still have many things to do, and I’m sure Soris is looking for you.” Cyrion offered a warm smile to his son, gathering him close for a hug. “I love you, my son.” The warmth in his father’s voice was what Syvlas lived for. The boy hugged his old man back tightly, “I love you too, father.”

Sylvas soon hobbled over to the chest beside his bed, cordoned off to a corner of the house. He reached inside, grabbing the wedding clothes folded neatly and resting inside of the chest. The clothes were carefully tailored, his father having commissioned it for this day. It was yet another expenditure for his marriage, added on top of the dowry his father had paid. When he had heard about the dowry, he’d loudly protested it. The theory of the dowry was something he could understand. The dowry was meant to even out the loss of his wife-to-be from the Highever Alienage, meant to make things more fair. One side got a new face, a new member for their little walled-in world, and the other got a considerable sum of money. Why his father couldn’t just keep the money and for once afford to eat more than a single serving of rat soup, he wouldn’t know. But it was tradition, his father had said. What was tradition worth if you didn’t follow it blindly?

Whatever it was, he soon was standing before the mirror after a quick couple buckets of freezing water poured over his trembling form, staring at his reflection. Sylvas glanced down, running his hands over his body. His form was toned and lean, slim from enduring the rough physical nature of working as a laborer. The fact that he could afford to maintain a relatively impressive physique spoke to how affluent among city elves they were. So many of the others had to struggle to feed themselves, but here they were, able to feed not only himself and his father, but Soris and Shianni too. 

Drying off and solemnly adorning his clothes, he shivered a little as the soft fabric rested against his bare skin. It felt odd not to be wearing clothes that scratched and irritated his skin. The golden trims and arms showed off his broad shoulders, his body strong despite, or maybe because of, all the strain and abuse. The rest of his wedding clothes were draped in blue, bringing out the color of his eyes, those glimmering pools of sapphire that so often reminded everyone of Adaia. There. Now he looked more handsome than before, if such a thing was even possible! Casting one quick look over the dilapidated state of their home, wondering what it would look like with one more person, he finally forced himself out of the house. 

At least he’d have one more person to share the load of the housework with. Maybe that would mean he’d get to focus more on earning enough money to be his own man, to make others work for him instead of working for others. 

As he stepped outside, he breathed in the less than pleasant air. He’d gotten used to the smell, but humans who occasionally stepped into the alienage often noted just how foul the place was, usually loudly and in very colorful ways. Perhaps the most poetic observation happened to be that the air was thick with desperation and pride, a comment he couldn’t forget. Humans would never understand their way of life, would never understand how sharing their hardships forged a strong community and instilled a sense of brotherhood within the alienage. They’d never understand that despite all the abuse, elves refused to die out. They were like weeds. 

And he just wanted the chance to grow tall, for once. Everyone else here was far too content to just survive, completely forgetting that thriving was an option too. Their apathy disgusted him, but he couldn’t blame them for it. They were like weeds, yes, but they were also like elephants who had grown so used to being bound that never paused to consider that they might no longer be bound. Their complacency was something he abhorred; how they could stomach such a life, he would never understand. With a sigh, he attempted to put the thoughts out of mind. This was to be his wedding. He should at least pretend to be happy. With that in mind, an easy smile curved his lips, a charismatic mask worn that very few could look past. 

Least of all the drunkards that were directly in front of him, teetering around near the fenced entrance to the alienage. They could barely keep themselves standing, hunched over in odd positions and hobbling about as one of them sang a song, the words slurred and full of raucous joy. Time to see how much money he could squeeze out of them! As he strode over to the drunken men, the red-headed one among the group greeted him with a slurred, “Good afternoon, my friend,” before glancing at each other, as if trying to confirm that yes, it was indeed the afternoon. “What’s the good word?”

Looking at the teetering gaggle before him, he couldn’t help but snicker. Maker, how were they already this drunk? “I see you’re celebrating already. Seems a little selfish for you to be celebrating my wedding without me.” He commented blithely, spreading his arms out in a wide gesture. “Still, that’s alright. I’m just here to collect wedding presents.” 

The declaration seem to give the group pause, the one closest to him, a redhead that was perhaps just barely younger than himself, tried to draw himself to his full height as he stammered, “O-Oh! Oh….er….well, um-” Before he could continue his stammering, his friend behind him, whose dark hair was styled into cornrows, spoke up, “We were thinking cash would be best. Spends easier and all that!” This statement was punctuated by the third member of the group wordlessly spiraling a little before unceremoniously crashing into the dust, kicking the dust up into the air. The elf recovered soon after from his tumble, stumbling back onto his legs and assuming a strange position in order to keep himself from falling down again. “We’ve collected, uh,” the red-headed one paused, squinting down at the coins clutched in his palm, as if struggling to recollect how to count them, “Thirty! Right, um, we’ve collected thirty bits for you.” 

While in the grand scheme of things, thirty bits was a paltry sum, those thirty bits would let him and the rest of his family enjoy a rare luxurious meal. With a little more, he might just be able to convince Alarith to part with one of those imported wines; perhaps Alarith might be so generous as to give him a discount on one of the Orlesian wines Alarith liked to keep in stock! Shianni was always partial to those. “Well,” Sylvas began, “Forty bits is much more traditional.”

Cornrow nodded slowly in agreement, sighing as he and the others rummaged around to make up the difference, “Oh, you’re right. You’re right. We’re just a little tipsy, s’all. Here.” With that, they topped off their earlier wedding gift with ten more bits. 

Depositing the money into his coin purse and patting it down, Sylvas glanced around the area, wondering where he’d find Soris. The alienage was a closed off community, with the gate that sat directly in front of his home being one of two ways in and out. Thus, there really weren’t many places for Soris to be hiding in, especially considering that the Alienage wasn’t particularly large. Besides, knowing Soris, he was likely to be hanging out near the entrance to the castle, considering it was always less crowded than the other areas. With that in mind, he began to make his way there. 

It didn’t take too long for Sylvas to reach the center of the alienage, a place where everyone liked to congregate. And right now, it was full of commotion and celebration as people enjoyed the festive mood brought on by the the double marriage spectacle he and Soris were putting on for them. The vhenedahl, the tree of the People, towered over the center of the space, providing much needed shade. People gossiped and laughed as he passed through, until he heard something that commanded his attention. 

“He has his mother’s looks, don’t you think? Mostly around the eyes.” Was someone talking about him? Pausing his stride, he turned to glance over his shoulder to see a two elder elves, likely husband and wife, smiling at him and calling him over. “Well, it’s the lucky groom himself. Hello, dear.” The lady began, looking at him with a certain sense of fondness. Who were these two? 

“I’m sorry, do I-” He began, only to be interrupted by the husband. 

“Now, dear, I don’t think he remembers us.” The husband said softly, a kind smile curving his lips. 

“Oh, of course. I’m Dilwyn and this is my husband, Gethon. We’re friends of your mother’s. I don’t think we’ve seen you since…well....”

People always got so awkward when they talked about his mother. As painful as the memory of her death continued to be, it wasn’t as though he’d burst into tears at the mention of her passing. Besides, death was common in the alienage and he didn’t understand why people felt the need to be so sensitive about it around him. He was used to it. “I’m always glad to meet friends of my mother, but I don’t think Father ever mentioned you.” 

“Yes,” Gethon sighed, “He wouldn’t, I suppose.” And what was that supposed to mean? Before Sylvas could inquire on the subject, Dilwyn spoke. “Adaia was beautiful and full of life, and a little bit wild too. We all hope you’ll be like her.” She said. 

He wasn’t sure he had the luxury to be like his mother. After Adaia had passed, Cyrion had been so full of grief that he couldn’t seem to formulate words through his tears. Sylvas remembered how his father had collapsed by the side of Adaia’s lifeless corpse, begging the love of his life to just speak to him once more, to promise not to leave him. Sylvas had sat there silently, staring at his mother. His father had been a wreck for the months after and Sylvas had found that he had to be the one to do most of the household chores, at least until he was old enough to find work. His father needed him and wouldn’t be able to take it if anything happened to his son. Being like his mother and getting himself killed wasn’t something he could afford. 

“She wanted you more than anything. It’s sad that she never got to see you all grown up and married.” Gethon lamented, his wife nodding and speaking up in turn. “We just wanted to see you again today and give you our good wishes. You’ve grown up so much. We...we’ve saved some money for this day. We’d like you to have it.” They said quietly, extending out a coin purse that was heavy with money. Just how much had they saved for him? 

“Thank you.” He said graciously, taking it from them. They weren’t obligated to give him nearly as much money as it felt like they had. Even for a wedding gift, it was rather extravagant, which perhaps just went to show how dear Adaia had been to them. Maybe it would help fill the hole left by the dowry his father had paid. “I’m sorry, but I really should be off now. Please enjoy yourselves. It’s always good to meet my mother’s friends.” With that, he gave them a nod and strode off. No more distractions, he had to find Soris now.

Just as he expected, he soon found Soris reclining against a tree near the entrance to the Arl of Denerim’s castle. “Well, if it isn’t my lucky cousin,” Soris said, a wry grin on his face as he uncrossed his arms and stood before Sylvas, “Care to celebrate the end of our independence together?” 

“What, getting cold feet already, Soris?” Sylvas snorted, giving his cousin a friendly thump on the shoulder as a greeting. 

“Oh, come on, are you surprised? Your betrothed sounds like a dream come true. She’s beautiful, intelligent, kind. Meanwhile, mine sounds like a dying mouse.” Soris said, rubbing at the back of his neck, that humorous tone never leaving his words. It seemed that Soris had chosen to handle this the same way he had. If they were going to suffer through this, they’d at least suffer through this with a smile. Whether they wanted this or not, the marriage was going to happen, after all. 

“Can’t be that bad. Besides, maybe you’ll get a cage for a wedding present. Or cheese.” 

With a loud laugh, Soris tossed back his head, “Maker, that’s terrible! Anyway, how about we go introduce ourselves to our betrothed before we say ‘I do’.” 

He had to admit, he was a little curious as to what she was like now. Though, he was more curious to see Soris’ bride-to-be. His father had hired a matchmaker in order to find the best possible bride for him, but Soris, parentless as he was, hadn’t had such a privilege. Instead, Valendrian, the village elder, had sought out a bride for Soris. Surely she couldn’t be that bad. 

Soris and Sylvas made their way back to the alienage center where they could see Shianni and two of the other bridesmaids were gathered near the vhenedahl. Shianni waved them over, no doubt eager to introduce the betrothed couples to each other. Time to see just how "dreamy" his betrothed truly was. 

Before the two men could reach Shianni, however, three humans dressed in fanciful garbs had appeared behind her and the other bridesmaids. One of them, a golden-locked man with cruel, sharp features grabbed at the dark-haired bridesmaid, who wriggled in his grasp. “Let go of me!” She cried, struggling to break free from the grip the human kept on her. “Stop, please!” After what likely felt like forever to her, the bridesmaid finally escaped, gasping. 

A snicker escaped the man as he swept his imperious gaze around his surroundings, glancing at the terrified expressions on the faces of the women. “It’s a party, isn’t it? Grab a whore and have a good time.” He said to his two companions, his laugh echoing out as he leered at the women. “Savor the hunt, boys. Take this little elven wench, here. So young and vulnerable…” His tongue slid across his lips, wettening them as he hungrily eyed down Shianni. 

Before Sylvas could react, step forward to get this bastard to back off, Shianni was already snarling back at him. “Touch me and I’ll gut you like the pig you are!” Sylvas saw no fear in her as she retorted, her head held high, fire in her eyes, her knuckles white as she clenched her fists, readying herself to strike back. 

In an effort to de-escalate the situation, one of the bystanders spoke up. “Please, my lord! We’re celebrating weddings here!” 

“Know your place, worm!” The man snarled, his pale hand winding back before whipping across the face of the elf that had spoken up, backhanding him. The elf crumpled to the ground, eliciting a gasp from the women. 

Seeing that his cousin was about to step forward, Soris reached out, attempting to keep Sylvas from doing anything reckless. “I know what you’re thinking. This looks really bad, I know, but maybe we shouldn’t get involved…” 

He frowned at that. It was true that if he retaliated, it would no doubt bring needless trouble to the alienage. Judging from their clothing, these humans were certainly affluent. That, however, didn’t mean he shouldn’t do anything. “Shianni’s going to get herself killed and you know it.” 

A small whine escaped Soris as he considered this. Sylvas was right, of course. Shianni had always been hot-tempered and after she had gotten used to the alienage, she’d become fiercely protective of it and everyone in it. Even though she wasn’t born here, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she loved it more than anyone else, let alone her cousins. “Fine. Let’s just try to be diplomatic then, shall we?” 

Instead of wasting time responding to that, Sylvas stepped forward, intent on asking them firmly to leave. Before he could speak, however, the human was already speaking. “What’s this, have the grooms come to welcome me personally?” 

“Let’s just talk this over.” Despite the fact that Sylvas almost defiantly met the gaze of the human, his tone was conciliatory, attempting to smooth things out. Any attempts at diplomacy, however, seemed to be swept under the rug. 

“Ha! You hear that, Vaughan? Looks like this knife-ear thinks he can talk to you. Maybe you should invite it over for dinner.” One of the lackeys said, arrogance heavy in their words. Vaughan? Why did that name sound so familiar? 

Before he could put his finger on it, Vaughan spoke up, his words dripping with the sort of imperiousness that very few could manage, “Ha! Do you have any idea who I am?” 

“You’re- Shianni, wait!” Soris exclaimed, which made Vaughan turn around, just in time for the man to see a bottle in her hand. It whipped across Vaughan’s face, the man grunting before passing out cold, the bottle shattering on impact and scattering onto the floor. 

“Are you insane?!” One of the lackeys stepped forward, aghast at the outcome. “This is Vaughan Urien, the arl of Denerim’s son!” 

In an instant, everyone’s faces whitened. Shianni had not only assaulted a human, something that would cause trouble enough, but she’d assaulted the son of the arl? The person who presided over this city? Shit. 

As worried as everyone looked, Shianni looked indescribably more worried, her face so pale she almost looked translucent. If she lost any more color, he could probably see right through her. “Oh, Maker…” She said raspily, her throat dry as the fear of retribution made her shaky. 

Before things could get worse, Sylvas moved forward, making sure that the attention of the two lackeys was on him, entirely. “Look, things just got out of hand here. You might want to make sure that bottle didn’t leave a mark on him. I’m sure he wouldn’t want his pretty face ruined.” 

The last little dig of his was not something that went unnoticed. “You’ve a lot of nerve, knife-ear,” One of the humans snarled, “This’ll go badly for you.” With that declaration, the humans picked Vaughan off the floor, looped their arms around his shoulders and dragged him off. 

Worriedly watching this unfold, Shianni approached her cousins, looking for comfort. “Oh, I really messed up this time…” 

Sylvas sighed a little rubbing at the back of his neck. Shianni’s temper was just as fiery as her hair, and while it served her well in protecting herself for the most part, Sylvas knew quite well how much trouble it could get you in. “You really need to learn to think twice.” He chastised. 

“It’ll be alright,” Soris reassured, “He won’t tell anyone that an elven woman took him down.” 

That was true. If there was one thing he knew, it was that the truly destitute and the ones in power were the ones that held their pride most dear. Vaughan wouldn’t tell anyone, but he wasn’t sure that they would be left alone for daring to not give into his demands, let alone bottling him. 

“I hope not.” Shianni gave a quivering smile, struggling to calm herself down. “I should go and get myself cleaned up. You two should introduce yourselves to your betrothed.” As she left, she pointed out the two girls, both of them dressed in fancy garbs that looked like they had cost months of hard work on the docks, their sharp ears pierced with earrings. 

“Are you two alright?” Soris asked, ever the gentleman that he was. 

“I think we’re just shaken,” said one of the girls, her voice slightly shaky, “What was that about?” 

Soris coughed into his hand a little, giving a nervous chuckle. “Well, ah, it seems like the arl’s son started drinking a little early. Anyway, uh, let’s not let this ruin our big days, right? Uh, cousin, this is Valora, my betrothed.” 

Ah. He should have guessed. Her features did look slightly mouse-like and her voice was a little shrill to boot. Dying mouse indeed. He turned to look at the other girl beside Valora and she was _beautiful_. Golden hair fell down to her shoulders, brushing against them lightly. A light dusting of faint eyeshadow brought out the deep color of her eyes, her plump lips painted red. A choker adorned her as well, lined with cheap jewels. “Then this beautiful vision must be Nesiara. A pleasure to meet you.” He said, a light smile on his lips. 

“I am lucky to finally see you for myself.” She said, returning his smile. 

Soris, sensing that he ought to let the two of them talk for a bit, “Well, ah. I’ll leave you two alone for a bit, I’m sure you want to talk.” 

“Thank you,” Nesiara said shyly, her eyes looking just slightly to the left of the eyes of her betrothed, perhaps a little too embarrassed to be looking straight at him. “Well...here we are, now. Our big day. Are you nervous?” 

In truth, he could barely hold himself back from having a panic attack. As lovely as she was, the moment he was married, he’d be stuck here. Stuck in this pigsty, where no one ever changed. Where no one ever bothered to make their lives better, preferring to wallow in their misery and hide their pain behind a thick veneer of pride. But one day, he would have to be married. Whatever life he wanted just was not possible, not so long as he wanted to see his father happy. And he did. Never again did he want to see his father like he had been after his mother had died. “I was nervous before. And then I saw you.” He said smoothly, not missing a beat. 

“I...oh my. I only hope I’m worthy of your affection.” She murmured, finally looking into his eyes. 

“I’m sure you will be.” He responded, only for Soris to nudge him with his elbow, apparently tired of speaking with Valora. 

“Come on, cousin,” Soris muttered, “We should let them get ready.” Something about Soris’ tone made Sylvas frown for a moment, as if there was something urgent they had to attend to.  
“We’ll see you two in a bit! Don’t you disappear on us,” Valora said. 

“Or we’ll hunt you down!” Nesiara laughed with glee, seemingly enjoying herself quite a bit. 

As the two ladies walked off, Soris sighed softly, tension in his voice, “Don’t look now, but we have another problem- hey, I said don’t look!” 

“Yes, because clearly, I can solve problems with my eyes closed. Just tell me what’s wrong, would you? Is Vaughan back?” 

“Well- maybe. There’s another human here, he just walked in. He could be one of Vaughan’s, maybe. Or just a random troublemaker ...Which is worse? Either way, we should move him along before someone pulls something stupid.” Soris mused worriedly, glancing at the human that had just walked in. The dark-haired, bearded man was tall, his skin tan, something that contrasted with the bright shine of the armor he wore. Something that both of the cousins noticed was that he was armed. Thus far, he seemed to be just quietly looking around, but who knows when that might change? 

“Let’s go talk to him.” 

The Tabris cousins looked at each other grimly before nodding and approaching him. Seeing them approach, the human greeted them first, “Good day,” he said, bowing slightly, “I understand congratulations in order for your wedding.” 

“Thank you,” Sylvas was polite in tone, but his eyes were sharp and mistrustful, “Do you have business here?” 

“I do. However, I believe that I may have already found what I was seeking.” What kind of cryptic bullshit was that? Why was he trying to hide what he was here for? 

“And what were you looking for?” Sylvas asked, frowning at the human. 

“That is my business alone. My apologies.” The human’s unceasing politeness was starting to grate on Sylvas’ nerves. 

“Fine. Then I assume you’ll be leaving, since your business is concluded.” Sylvas’ words were injected with a sharp steel, the elven male glancing at the two weapons strapped to the human’s back and the gleaming armor he wore. What business required him to be so armed at a wedding? 

“I am sorry, but I have no intention of leaving.” As the human said this, Sylvas was starting to get quite frustrated. If his business was concluded, why was he still here? Though, he didn’t quite say his business was finished, did he? 

Once more glaring at the human, Sylvas spoke with as much focused intensity as he could, “I am only going to ask once more. Please _leave_.” 

At this, the armed human stared back easily at Sylvas, seemingly not even the least bit threatened by the unarmed elf. “And yet, once more I must refuse. Now what?”  
Clenching his jaw, Sylvas took a deep breath. Unfortunately, Sylvas was unarmed. Not only did this human have weapons, he had armor as well. The human was likely well-trained too, whereas he had been trained by his mother but hadn’t once picked up a weapon since her passing. Speaking of picking up a weapon- even if he were to somehow snatch a sword from the human, he could be executed simply for possessing a weapon. Elves were not allowed to be armed, after all. “Fine,” he said, “Now we compromise.” 

Upon hearing this, the human gave a pleased smile and spoke, “He keeps his composure, even when facing down an unknown and armed human. A true gift, wouldn’t you say, Valendrian?” What? Was this all a test? Was the alienage’s elder in on this? But why? 

Valendrian stepped into view, his long, pale hair swaying down to the base of his neck. The wrinkled elder elf still walked with a great deal of nobility and carried himself like he saw the world in a way few could. “Indeed, the world has a great need for those who know how to stay their blade,” he said, offering Sylvas a bit of a pleased smile before glancing back up at the human, “It is good to see you again, old friend. It has been far too long.

“I- thank you, Elder,” What else did they think he would do? Get himself killed? What would that accomplish? “I wasn’t aware you knew this human.” 

Standing tall and gesturing to the human beside him, Valendrian responded, “May I present Duncan, head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden.” The...The Grey Wardens? Forget getting himself killed, if he had lost his temper and tried to attack, there would be very little left of him to bury! The Grey Wardens were a renowned order of great warriors, dedicated to fighting against the darkspawn. There had been a time when he wanted to be one. 

“And why is he here?” It didn’t make any sense. Why would a Grey Warden bother coming to the alienage? As spectacular as his wedding was sure to be, he was pretty sure that the promise of merriment wasn’t what drew Duncan here. 

“Yes, that is an excellent question. What brings you here, Duncan?” Valendrian asked, turning to face Duncan. 

A grim expression played itself on the man’s face as he spoke, an urgency heavy in his words, “I am here to prepare for the worst. A Blight has begun. King Cailan has summoned our order to Ostagar to fight back the darkspawn horde alongside his armies.” 

It seemed as though he had more to say, but Valendrian cut him off. “Yes, I’ve heard of the news. However, it seems you’ve come at a rather unfortunate time, old friend. There are to be two weddings today.” 

Duncan nodded slowly. “So I see. Please, attend to your ceremonies, my concerns are abated for now.” 

With that, Valendrian nodded, “Thank you. Children, treat Duncan as my guest. And for the Maker’s sake, take your places!” 

“Yes, Elder. Come on, cousin!” Before Sylvas could question the somewhat suspicious undertones of Duncan’s words and actions, Soris tugged him along, as though he was well aware that Sylvas wouldn’t come otherwise. 

“Hey, wait- Damn it, Soris, I wanted to talk to him. There’s something going on.” 

“Yes, and that something is our wedding! We can’t be late to our own wedding, cousin.” 

“You know, I am fairly certain they won’t start without us. We’re not going to be late.” 

“...Good point.” Despite agreeing with his cousin, Soris refused to acquiesce to his request to speak more with Duncan. It was a bit too late now, after all, what with the two of them on stage, taking their places with the women beside them. 

Glancing from his position on the stage, Sylvas saw Shianni and his father smile at him and wave, the whole alienage aglow with celebration. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Woo! Thank you so much for making it to the end of the chapter! After years of stalking this place, I've finally decided to contribute something. Is the chapter too long? Would you prefer I make the dialogue a little more unique or should I stick to using some of the dialogues from the game?


End file.
